Whiskey Lullaby
by RuGrimm
Summary: After a gradual realization, Grell falls victim to his emotions and tries to drown the pain in any way he can, also dragging William into a downward spiral with him. Based off of the hit country song: Whiskey Lullaby. (Fan Request)


Chilled cheek pressed against the glass. Green eyes seemed to stare lifelessly at the soiled reflection of their owner. Bloodshot and dry from tears that could no longer form, they drank in the sight of rain as it pitter-pattered on the window and ran down to trace the image of a certain redhead and imitate the appearance of the grief he could no longer show.

Grell swallowed, sniffing and then blinking passively at his own reflection. The former mangosteen of reapers' apathetic expression focused on nothing, his head resting limply on the glass of his apartment window. A rosy blush decorated cheeks that no longer sported their concealing paint…paint that once hid the mess of a monster inside. Leg propped up on the window sill in which he was perched, his left arm lay across his knee with a sort of dead weight, dragged down by the half-empty glass bottle in his hand. He didn't seem to mind the strong stench wafting from his lips, too used to the poison he filled himself with on a regular basis now. His heavy breath fogged the window, casting white over the reflection of his face, a blessing to the redhead who was all too sick of his own appearance now. Half of him wanted to do as he had to his last victim…who was it? Kelly? Susie? Some whore—it didn't matter who. He wanted to bring his own scythe to his face and carve away any evidence of who Grell Sutcliff was or had been.

Maybe then…William would finally be able to tolerate the walking corpse of a redhead.

 _William._

The thought of those cold, merciless green eyes prompted him to raise the bottle to his lips and drown himself in the only comfort he knew now. Even then, it seemed that no matter how many bottles deep he drank, he couldn't ever forget…

He couldn't forget the sight of those eyes—eyes that seemed to stare right through him. As the blow struck him, his body reeling from the force, he snapped. Words collided in heated tension, and the truth that spilled from William's lips hurt more than the hand that had marked him a victim to the any who saw his face. It was the fact that he had never meant anything to the one he cared most for that crippled the redhead. The simple fact that no one had ever wanted him, that his existence and rebirth had, in the end, meant absolutely nothing brought forth a new perspective. He was the office joke. He was the comedic relief. He was…easily replacable. Grell could take the snickers, he could take the offensive glares. However, what made the infamous, invincible Grell Sutcliff fall to his knees, was the realization that the people he had cared most for, William in particular, would so willingly let him fall.

A keen sense of betrayal sunk into the deep emotional wound that William had so carefully crafted over the centuries. He had once been able to handle this raw pain by taking it out on those whores. All the suffering, all the agony, all the _torture,_ he had mirrored upon them. What he had hoped would one day happen to him, he made reality on them.

Every night, he would dream that he would wake to William standing there beside his bed, fresh blood dripping from his scythe. Yes, a death by William's hands would be a bitter-sweet dream-come-true. But…William was too cruel.

Too cruel to let him die.

The redhead cast a sigh into the air, feeling the familiar sting in the corners of his worn-out eyes. He rested his head back against the wall, staring up and wetting his lips with his tongue. An ache in his chest seemed to throb, and he wasn't sure whether or not it was from trying not to break into mad sobs again or his broken heart trying in vain to keep beating.

With another swig from his bottle, the drunken Shinigami managed to roll from the windowsill and stagger to his feet. He swayed as he stood, the room blurred and spinning, and he stumbled all the way toward his bed with every intention of sleeping away the pain he knew he would endure again the moment he reopened his eyes. It seemed to be that way every day William took his justice out upon him…

And then he caught a glimpse of a disgusting creature in the standing mirror nearby as he passed it. Grell paused, transfixed upon his likeness, and he stared at the repulsive sight he was met with. Once beautiful red hair was matted and knotted to the point it was unlikely to be brushed through ever again. In fact, he hadn't brushed it in days. Faint freckles were highlighted by his inebriated blush, no longer hidden by layers of makeup he had once made the habit of applying before work. Cheeks were much more hollow, and his green eyes were sunken deep within his skull and lacked their normal spark. His back was hunched over, and his body seemed to sway with the effort of staying still in one spot.

A feral growl fell from his lips as a clump of scarlet strands fell into his line of sight, and he grew irritated when he couldn't simply brush it away with an uncoordinated hand. If it wouldn't go away on its own, he would simply make sure that it would never bother him again.

Making his way with some difficulty to his bedside table, he grabbed a pair of scissors and marched back to the mirror…closer this time so he could be face to face with whatever beast was trapped in the glass. The blade snipped and snapped at once gorgeous tresses, and green eyes watched as crimson snow gently fell onto the carpet, gathering at bare feet. He didn't care about the reckless way he hacked at his hair, only pleased as the mess seemed to diminish and apathetic toward the chains of his glasses when they fell victim to his wrath and hung limply at his shoulders until they too joined the sea of an old Grell now gone.

He imagined what William would think when he worked into work tomorrow. Would he snicker and tell him to leave work to get it redone in a more 'professional manner'? Would he be pleased that the redhead appeared to be more true to his real gender? Or would he beat him until he bled again and belittle him for his childish behavior…Belittle him for feeling emotions that he couldn't understand?

Baring his teeth, his jaw and nose ached from the force of the action. Disgust was clear on his face, and he didn't even flinch when the snapping scissors caught his ear and blood seeped from the superficial wound. In fact, he reveled in the pain, and as he pulled the blades away from his head to look at the shaggy reminder of his academy years, his eyes narrowed in thought.

Oh, the reminder of that fateful day over a century ago was something he couldn't forget no matter how much he indulged…just like the thought of William. The feeling of finally letting everything go was a high he had dreamt about too often lately. It wouldn't hurt anything to reenact that little scenario so long ago…It wasn't as if he would die from it. Then again, dying again didn't seem to be such a bad idea…

A cruel smirk tugged the corner of his mouth upwards, and he licked his top lip as his eyes narrowed at the idea. His hold on the scissors in his hand tightened, and he was hardly aware of what he was doing until the fabric of his dress shirt was pushed up to his elbow. White porcelain skin still had the marks from that one, fateful decision all those years ago, and he dared to trace them with the end of his blade…

Giggles surfaced and filled the air as eyes widened in delight. Blood began to take shape in rivulets before they ran around the circumference of his arm and dripped onto the mess at his feet. In contrast to his mirth, tears fell from his jaw, mixing and diluting the red that formed and stained the white of his arm. A stinging, phantom pain could still be felt through the buzz, but he filled his ears with the music of his own sufferings and reveled in the pleasure of no longer thinking of William. This was the only way he could forget those eyes. He'd rather drown in self-mutilation than the insanity of his hatred and…unrequited love.

Blades carved skin, destroying the perfection he had once prided himself in, and told a tale of an agony no one could possibly hope to understand, for love is a thing that no dictionary can hope to define.

And the thought of burying himself in pain only reminded him of why he was doing this, and he threw the scissors down, a straggled sob finally shaking the still air. Knees buckled as the redhead fell onto all fours and shook in his own grief. Brows hedged and lips trembled, hands fisting into blood-stained hair and carpet. He crawled to the nightstand and grabbed at the bottle, sticking it into his mouth much like one gives a pacifier to an infant, but the sounds of absolute torture couldn't be quenched by the fire he filled himself with.

Why did, after everything he had ever done to him….Why did he still love him? What was there to love? Why did hurt so much that William didn't care? Why couldn't he move on like all the others before him? Why did he have to get so attached? Why did he have to continue this endless suffering? Why couldn't it all just end?

A choked sob shook his body, and he dropped the bottle and pushed it aside to rest his forehead on the ground. He was so pathetic. No wonder William treated him like an insect under his shoe. In fact, he would likely have more respect for an insect.

The tears that fell onto the carpet didn't stop, and he remembered why he tried to drown himself in that bottle. He had to forget. He had to forget why he loved William. He had to forget the pain. He just wanted it to stop…

He realized that the bottle wasn't enough anymore. He couldn't forget. William was there. Everywhere…haunting him. The discriminating words he had once hit him with as hard as his material scythe echoed in his head. The disapproving glares and snickers that he beat him down with seemed to appear with the ghost that formed before his very eyes and stared down at him.

"GO AWAY! LEAVE ME ALONE!" was his mad scream, dropping the bottle and reaching upward to pull at his short hair, willing the ghost of his imagination to go away. William wasn't really there…He wouldn't dare step foot into his home….or spare time to visit an incompetent…sleazy…insane…foolish…stupid…gender-confused waste of space.

When the ghost didn't disappear, simply staring at him with a passive expression on a transparent complexion, he quickly reached for his nightstand again and dug through the drawers like a dog for a bone. His hands found the gun he usually kept stashed away for emergencies, and he raised the weapon toward the figure that really wasn't there.

"FUCK YOU! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!"

And yet the image didn't move, and the irate redhead cried through his snarl as he pulled the trigger three times, shooting at a ghost of his imagination. The bullets went harmlessly into the wall across the room, and Grell only threw the weapon onto the ground when William suddenly disappeared.

Would he really shoot the love of his life if he were really there? The thought plagued his mind as he cradled his head and rested it against the ground. His whole body shook, and he wondered just what sanity felt like. If only he could be everything William wanted. What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he accept him as he was? Why wasn't he ever good enough? He'd tried to be everything he'd wanted, dammit! He'd been there for centuries! But even now, he was a long-expired, over-ripe tomato William had procrastinated in throwing out.

Maybe he should do William a favor and save him the trouble of finishing the job. Forgiveness in the eyes of the Highers had never mattered to him anyway. All that had ever mattered was…

Grell looked at the gun on the floor, sniffing as he shakily reached for it and looked at it in consideration. It was a Death Scythe, he knew that much. He'd never used it to reap, as it was tacky and never registered to begin with. But it could end all of this. It could finally banish the memories from his mind and drown him in a peace that he had never known. He was already damned. As long as the pain could stop, that's all that mattered.

A tiny smile graced his lips as he pressed the deadliest bottle he had ever held to his temple, closing his eyes as another tear ran down the side of his face. What would it feel like to finally have the peace he had always craved? To never again feel pain?

With a deep inhale, he fingered the trigger and nearly laughed at the recollection that this had been the way that William himself had died…

To die like William…there was no greater honor.

Xxx

 **Author's Note:**

 **This was a request I've had for a while now. It's taken me a while to write this, and I've had to take several breaks during its creation due to several...'life events'. Due to this, it has been extremely challenging trying to keep the mood and the emotion consistant.**  
 **However, I hope you guys enjoyed it! This is the most emotional piece I have ever done (alongside Alone), so it would be a freaking HUGE HUGE HUGE help if you guys were to comment below. That way, I can have all the help I need in getting the second and final chapter out there ASAP.**  
 **So yes, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE**  
 **COMMENT!**


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